


Bloodstream

by Mishafer



Series: Saturating the Reibert tag with Actual Reibert Fics [19]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, M/M, Minor Violence, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 03:42:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21264494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mishafer/pseuds/Mishafer
Summary: Reiner is on a quest to make himself immortal through science. While in New Orleans, he finds a vampire whose immense power may hold the key to unlocking more than one of his desires.Bertholdt is the king of his fellow vampires in the city of New Orleans. But with great power comes loneliness. Until a plucky human with a preposterous desire for immortality darkens his door.





	Bloodstream

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on the recent Shingeki no Kyojin Tactics costumes for its Halloween event. Bertholdt's vampire costume, and Reiner's frankenstein one. 
> 
> Happy Halloween!

Reiner stood against the paint-chipped bar wall chatting to a chummy man with a ridiculous swirl of red hair. A pair of glistening fangs revealed themselves with every smarmy smile. Reiner’s hand rested on the row of stakes strapped to his hip. 

“How much money you got on you?” asked the vampire. 

Typical. 

“Weren’t we talking about trade here?” Reiner questioned.

He licked his upper lip. “We were? Huh, well guess I got distracted by those nice boots of yours. Couldn’t be worth less than a grand.”

“And what am I paying you for, exactly?”

“My nice smile!” His lips stretched uncomfortably wide. Reiner spotted what must be dried blood on his molars. Ick. Most vampires had the decency to brush their teeth. “Hey, I gave you some great intel,” he pressed. “I don’t give shit away for free.”

Great. This guy thought he was important enough to be getting his boots—which were custom-made by Reiner himself—for a tip that nudged him to ask a guy named Zeke about a guy named Kruger who might know something about something. 

“Look, I’m a nice guy,” Reiner began, hand tightening around the stake, “so I’ll offer you fifty bucks for that lead.”

The vampire scoffed. “Fifty bucks? I can barely get two hairs on my head cut for fifty bucks.” 

Reiner tried to suppress a growl, a habit he must have picked up from his wolfy buddies back in Virginia. His legs ached, his stomach was clenching from some bad shrimp, and he just wanted nothing more than to become immortal and deal with these human hang-ups no longer. 

Reiner tossed a glance at the puff of red hair atop the vampire’s head. “So is that why your hair looks like that? Need a trim?”

The vampire glowered and a low hiss bubbled in his throat. The telltale sign of a vampire about to attack. Reiner’s stake would be tasting a cold dead heart soon. But as his fist gripped his stake, a wave of gasps replaced the bar's low music. He was confused at first, a brawl was no surprise at this place and at most the owner would tell them to take it outside. But it wasn’t Reiner and his opponent the patrons were in awe of, it was something else. 

Reiner and the vampire turned from their dispute to a figure of dizzying height dressed in over-the-top black and red outfit. His long grey nails caged the skull on the end of a cane. His skin was pale and his eyes glowed crimson under the shadow of his top hat. Clearly another vampire. Yet as he passed beneath the lights, his face was revealed not weathered and mature as Reiner expected, but that of a man no more than twenty. Soft face aside, he had the whole bar quivering. 

And quiver Reiner did when the figured strode toward his corner of the bar. His legs turned to jelly, hand gripping his stake until his knuckles turned white. Even the cocky man beside him stood at attention. His once smirking lips were drawn into a tight line. But Reiner was a fighter, and began to pull out his stake when yet again he was halted.

“Floch Forester,” a throaty and smooth voice floated from the approaching vampire. 

Reiner’s now named opponent spoke, “Y—yes?” 

The man’s brows drew together and he swooped to lift Floch by the neck. A chair squeaked in the background and Reiner slid back to give them room. 

“You’ve been up to some very bad things,” he said as Floch squirmed helplessly. “Things you know are forbidden. Intimidating others for their valuables, depleting a blood donation drive’s entire supply, and it’s no secret who killed those missing runaways.” 

“N—no, th-that was—”

“Quiet. We all know it was you, there’s no use denying it. Don’t worry, this will be quick.” His crimson eyes glowed, and his long nails sunk into Floch’s throat and crushed his neck with an unpleasant squelch. Blood spray peppered the side of Reiner’s stubbled jaw. His hand released in an instant and the limp body slumped to the ground. “I trust you’ll clean this,” he said before pulling a handkerchief from his coat pocket and cleaning the impressively small amount of blood from his hands for the deed. Reiner gulped. He’d done this before. 

The vampire met Reiner’s gaze and his glowing eyes dimmed, then cast them the hand that held the stale. Reiner let the weapon go out of fear he would interpret a threat. He stepped closer and Reiner inched back, but the other man merely folded his handkerchief to a clean side and blotted the blood from Reiner’s jaw. A shudder wracked his body despite that their skin had not touched. The vampire gave the semblance of a smile then tipped his hat. And as quickly as he’d appeared, he was gone.

Reiner coughed forth a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Which until then he didn’t think was something that happened outside literature. He touched his jaw where the vampire had dried the blood spray. Others in the bar rushed the body and Reiner idly backed away. Normally, he would help out, even in such a grisly task, but felt as if the vampire put him in a daze. 

Someone approached him. The short and unkempt black-haired girl named Pieck who had pushed him toward Floch. “Don’t be too freaked out,” she commented, cocking her head at the patrons handling the body. “He’s kind of a big deal here, but he doesn’t just go around killing willy-nilly.” She paused. “But he did kill Willy Tybur.”

“I—who?”

She shrugged. “Not important.”

His brain started to turn again. “Wait, kill? Did he _kill_ that guy?” Vampires could only be killed by a stake or decapitation. And Floch’s throat was merely slashed. 

“Very killed. He can kill with his long nails. Name’s Bertholdt Hoover. I don’t know how he got so powerful, but he is. Doesn’t like to flaunt it, only uses it when necessary to keep the peace around here. He mostly keeps to himself.”

Reiner recalled Bertholdt. Tall, dark, and imposing but with an almost baby-face. “He’s so…”

“Intimidating.”

“He’s _hot_.”

Her head whipped up to him and her mellow eyes widened. “Thinking he’s hot after that is kinda fucked up, you know. Especially for a human.”

He adjusted his coat collar. “Yeah.”

But Reiner was the guy who’d spent four years trying to become immortal. He’d seen more fucked-up things than this during his quest. And speaking of his immortality goal, he had no idea a vampire of that power existed. His delving into the undead world was a last resort into his mission. If this Bertholdt was so powerful, perhaps he could prove useful. 

And Reiner would like to see him again. Just for the eye candy. 

Reiner watched the patrons wrap Floch in a blue tarp. “You think Bertholdt would—”

“He doesn’t like visitors. Trust me.”

He sidestepped in front of her, she kept her gaze on the commotion. “Sounds like you know that firsthand. Along with his residence?” He waggled his eyebrows.

“And why would I tell you that?”

He stuck out his foot and gave it a wiggle “For my boots.” He’d have to go home barefoot and strap on his other pair, but this was a must.

A gentle smile curved her pale lips.

***

_“I said I didn’t want it!” Bertholdt cried, grasping his blood-soaked neck._

_“I’m sorry...” sobbed the young girl. “You’re the only one who—” Her eyes rolled inside her head and she fell flat on the floor with a deadly thud._

_“Wait!” Bertholdt screamed and launched across the floor. A shockwave of fire and ice raced through his veins. “No, no, no, please. I don’t want it.” His limbs tingled and burned. He reached a hand out for the deceased girl. “No… come back…”_

Bertholdt’s mind replayed the memory as he lit the fire in his sprawling homestead. Central heat had never been installed. Unlike other vampires, his body temperature never plummeted as low. Even running hot when he had recently fed. Though the heat was always welcome. Comforting warmth he seldom got from anywhere else. Bertholdt lounged back on his sofa, hand swirling a shot of vodka with a drop of raspberry juice and blood. His now retracted nails clinked against the glass. Clean of blood but forever stained with its memory. 

His ears pricked up and honed in on his two hellhound dogs barking at the end of his driveway. Potsticker and Jambalaya—names he told no one as to not taint his intimidating image—were trained to utter menacing barks when anyone dared approach his home. Bertholdt sighed under his breath. Hating being bothered after taking care of whichever vampire had been causing too much trouble. He preferred retreating into himself with a drink and warm fire. 

The dogs quieted, then happy pants replaced their threats. A deep masculine voice uttered ‘good boy.’ Bertholdt blinked. Had this man pacified his dogs? His certified hellhounds? Summoned from a real (according to their seller, Kenny Ackerman) portal to hell?

Bertholdt stood and placed his drink on his immaculate coffee table, and bounded through the foyer to his door. He forgoed peeking through the curtains and flung open the entrance. The movie star-handsome cyborg-looking blond from the bar patted Jambalaya on the head. Potsticker stood gazing longingly as his frayed black tail wagged.

The hulking blond’s smile dropped at Bertholdt’s form, then cleared his throat. “Hello.”

“How did… how did you placate my hounds?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “Just let ‘em sniff my hand. I’m great with dogs.”

“Those are hellhounds. They were born from fire and brimstone. They’re only kind to their master. Me.”

“But they like my head pats.” He scratched Potsticker behind his forked ear. 

Either the hounds were not purebred hellhounds, or this cyborg had some supernatural sway over dogs.

Or he was just a dog person. 

Bertholdt began to step outside, but the sun had only just begun its decent behind the horizon and he wasn't dressed for the exposure. “How did you find me? Did someone tell you?”

“Yeah, Pieck. You know her?”

His shoulders slumped. Pieck was horrible at keeping secrets. She only knew of his address because she insisted on gifting him her famous blood pudding every Christmas. As well as a risqué encounter nearly two decades ago.

“Yes, I know her.”

The blond parted from the dogs who stayed hot on his heels. “My bad, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Reiner. Reiner Braun.” He warily offered his hand. Bertholdt took a tentative moment before returning his handshake. For some reason half-expecting to be shocked by a hand buzzer. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t like to be bothered. But I have a proposition for you—”

Bertholdt raised a hand and quieted him before he could continue. “Please, come inside. There’s no need to stand at my door like savages.” He stood aside and gestured he come in. 

“Wow, really?” 

“I must be in a charitable mood.” He gazed upon his dogs with affection. Anyone who could make hellhounds act like lovestruck puppies piqued his interest.

Reiner followed Bertholdt inside as the dogs stayed outside—much to their disappointment. Reiner’s eyes sparkled at the lavish foyer and the roaring fire burning in the great room. 

“You live like how you look,” Reiner said. “But you’ve dressed down since I saw you.”

Bertholdt had changed into a black button-up and dark green slacks. “It’s important to keep up appearances when you’re out. And stay shaded from the sun.” He stepped over to his table of various alcoholic beverages and mixers. “Would you like a drink?”

“No, thank you. I keep alcohol far away.”

“I have club soda.” 

Reiner agreed and Bertholdt proceeded to pour him a fizzy glass. Bertholdt picked back up his vodka and they stood on either ends of the sofa with drinks in hand.

Bertholdt twirled his cup’s contents. “What’s this proposition of yours?”

“Well,” Reiner began, smacking his lush lips, “as you may be able to tell, I’ve given myself a few upgrades.” 

Bertholdt had noticed. In fact Reiner’s physique was impossible not to gawk at. Especially his pecks peeking over the top of his buttoned trenchcoat, and what seemed to be a kind of bandage beneath.

He held out a gauntlet-covered hand. “These are just gloves, but I’ve engineered them to regenerate on their own like they’re living tissue. Made a few alterations on myself too, like replaced a lung so I can hold my breath a little longer. My ultimate goal is for my whole body to regenerate forever. In other words, immortality without the supernatural drawbacks of immortals like yourself. No offense, of course.”

“None taken. So, you want all the upsides and none of the downsides.”

“Pretty much. So far I’ve analysed vampire, ghoul, werewolf, zombie, and all others sorts of things' blood and tissue. I've been able to isolate its regenerative properties, hence my handy gloves here. But can’t combine it with my mortal human DNA to stop my aging without turning me into a vamp or ghoul or whatnot. You’re special though. Something I haven’t studied.” His face lit up and he was almost bouncing on his feet. Bertholdt found it endearing. Similar to his dog’s puppy-like excitement. “I had no idea a vampire existed who could kill another one with just their nails.”

“I’m an anomaly.”

“Yeah, and how’s that?”

“I don’t tell just anyone.”

“Ah yeah.” He frowned. “I guess you get a lot of folks up in your business wanting some of your talent. Look, I’m not trying to take any piece of your pie or anything, this is just for me. Then I’m out of here and back to my lab in Virginia.”

Bertholdt should have said no, and he had countless time declined those wanting to know his vampiric secrets. But to see Reiner so giddy at the prospect, and the way he placated the dogs, have him a sense of ease. Reiner was only human after all. If he had to—and the thought already saddened him—take him out, it would require no effort.

“I notice you didn’t bring your stakes fro earlier,” Bertholdt said of his lack of holster. “You’re brave, you know. Coming at me unarmed asking for a drop of my blood. Knowing what I’m capable of.”

“Oh no, I’m definitely terrified right now, but that’s fine. Gotta be ambitious.”

Bertholdt’s chest vibrated with a barely contained chuckle. He stared down at his drained glass. “I’ll help you.”

His squared eyes grew round. “For real?” Bertholdt affirmed. “I don’t think I have anything to offer you in return.”

Bertholdt swished his tongue, reanimating the subtle iron taste of his drink. “I haven’t had a fresh drop to drink in a while.” 

His supernatural ears detected a squeak come from Reiner’s throat. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, that’s fair. Blood for blood.” 

“I’m masterfully restrained, you don’t have to worry. I won’t even bite you, you can just drain some for me.” Bertholdt would much rather taste Reiner’s salty skin along with his blood, but he valued politeness and the ease of a transaction. 

The hesitation dropped Reiner’s chiseled features and his gloved fingers rubbed at his five o’clock shadow. “I um, well, I hadn’t actually intended to do any of this now…” He placed his half-drink soda down on the coffee table. “And I don’t even have my glass slides for your blood sample. So...”

“Alright. You can come back then. Tonight? Or tomorrow?”

His jaw clenched. “Tonight. Here, I assume?” 

“Sure. I’ll show you my library. I have plenty of tomes on supernatural lore and magic. You might be able to learn something.”

His jaw clenched even harder. “Sounds awesome.”

***

The sun hugged the horizon through Reiner’s open window and the busy street life from a story down floated in. His bare hands ran through his hair until it stuck up at odd angles, and he paced around his messy, cramped apartment.

His ‘appointment’ with Bertholdt fast approached. Never had he been fed on despite spending so much time with the vampires. A proficiency in stakes had kept him safe. But the thought of that suave yet shy Bertholdt with his mouth on his neck made him weak in the knees from something other than fear. Reiner could be wild, but he wasn’t that wild, was he?

Before closing his apartment door behind him, he considered grabbing a stake to stash in his coat. Despite Bertholdt’s strength, going in unarmed would make him even more vulnerable. But Reiner gritted his teeth and decided against it. A mad move, but he secretly wanted to hear Bertholdt praise him as brave again. Maybe say he was impressed that he had the stones to crawl into a vampire’s lair unarmed with veins open…

Oh, Reiner was an idiot. Scientific genius. But an idiot, and he knew it. 

He ventured out into the balmy New Orleans air and walked with his head down the many blocks to Bertholdt’s house. Its windows glowed faintly, and no hounds this time. The front door creaked opened before Reiner could ring the bell and Bertholdt wordlessly beckoned him inside. He wore a different shirt than before, dark ashy blue, and donned velvet slippers instead of shoes. Reiner’s spine sweat as he assumed this was his recreational clothing. Feeding on a human was recreation.

He followed him to a quaint library of old books. Many boasted letters of alphabets Reiner couldn’t begin to decipher.

“I prepared you a drink,” Bertholdt said, gesturing to a fine glass. “Another club soda. Will that do?”

Okay. This was a good sign, Reiner thought. Bertholdt could have easily drunk him dry the second he was inside, but had not. Perhaps the polite act was sincere.

Reiner accepted the beverage. “Definitely. Thanks.” He took sip of the fizzy beverage.

"I don't see any stakes this time either."

Reiner perked up. "That's right." 

Bertholdt’s studied him further, eyes shining the faintest red in the low light. Reiner's glee over impressing a vampire king plummeted. 

_I might be about to die._

The thought flashed through his head only for an instant before he set down his glass more forecefully than needed. “So, how you wanna do this?” 

Bertholdt’s form was as motionless as a mountain. “Would you mind if I went first?” 

“Might as well.” His voice squeaked unintentionally and his neck warmed in embarrassment. He wondered if Bertholdt could sense the heat of his body.

“I won’t drink directly from you if that would make you more comfortable.” Bertholdt held up a hand and out flexed a set of razor-sharp nails. 

Reiner paled. The memory of Floch’s gnarled throat painted his memory. “The old fashioned way is fine.”

He raised a brow. “You sure?” Reiner affirmed, and Bertholdt’s nails shot back into his fingers. “Well then, how about I drink from your wrist. Your neck might be more… awkward.”

Yet still, even with the cold sweat on his temples, the idea of Bertholdt’s mouth on his neck was enough to turn his blood hot. 

“Wrist is fine.” Reiner began dismantling the gauntlets on both hands and laid them down on the table. Their numerous buckles clanked against the surface and he flinched. 

Reiner rolled up his right arm’s coat sleeve. A line of stitches on crisscrossed the exposed skin, but a convenient bare patch was left open at the wrist. Perfect for a bite.

Bertholdt inched closer. “That’s impressive. So you just cut yourself open and modify yourself?”

“Pretty much. I’ve had some help though. My cousin, Gabi.”

_If she could see my idiot self now._

“Is she a doctor or a biologist?”

“Not exactly. She’s twelve.”

An amused breath left his nose. “You’re insane.”

He heaved a sigh. “Yeah.”

Bertholdt took Reiner’s wrist and traced his veins with his now thankfully retracted nails. A shudder wracked Reiner’s body no doubt Bertholdt noticed.

“Don’t worry,” Bertholdt rasped. “I’ll be gentle.”

His eyes flared crimson and his lips parted. That telltale hiss erupted from his throat and his front teeth grew to sharp fangs. Reiner’s heart was pounding and flip-flopping when he sank his teeth in. He grimaced at the harsh sting but was the sensation was mixed by dizziness from the warm lips and tongue circling his flesh. 

Warm. Bertholdt was so _warm_ for a vampire. 

Reiner sank against Bertholdt’s toasty side. The vampire’s face furrowed in deep concentration and contorted in pleasure. A trickle of blood slid from the puncture quickly lapped up by the skilled tip of Bertholdt’s tongue. Reiner was struggling through breaths when he became acutely aware of where his heart was pumping his blood. 

Yes, Bertholdt was right. He was insane. And insanely turned on.

Finally Bertholdt released with a smack a dreamy sigh, then wiped his mouth on a nearby towel that lay over the back of a chair. Then promptly took the cloth and wrapped it around Reiner’s wrist. Caring. Like a nurse bandaging a wound.

“It will stop bleeding soon.”

Bertholdt’s cheeks flushed enough to see even in the low light. Reiner’s world was spinning, lucky for him before he only then could he fight the urge to kiss him. But oh he wanted to, with every ounce of his unsteady body. 

“I think it’s my turn,” Bertholdt said. His nails shot out of his hand again. “Did you bring your slides?”

Reiner blinked several times to remind himself where he was. Happy the room was dark enough to hide his tented pants. “Yeah. Uh, well actually I brought a bag.” He fumbled around inside his many pant pockets and retrieved a plastic bag. His hands barely managed to pry it open. Was this always what it felt like to be fed on? Reiner’s unconventional arousal aside, he had seen feedings first hand and unless a dangerous amount of blood was taken the victim was able to stay lucid after.

Perhaps this is just what Bertholdt did to him.

Bertholdt slashed his wrist with his nails and bleed a line into the bag. “Will this be enough?”

Reiner was too blanked out at this point to even assess the amount, but replied, “Should be.”

Bertholdt's head tilted. “You know, as well as looking through my library, why don’t you stay a bit? Unless wherever you're at now is big enough for your work?”

The thought snapped a bit of lucidity back into him. “It’s not really big enough, no.” He had planned to head back to Virginia as soon as possible, but spending time in a ridiculously sexy vampire’s lair while he did experiments on his blood? Reiner’s head filled with impure thoughts. “I’d love to stay here a little longer.”

***

Bertholdt’s skin ran hot as it always did after a fresh meal. Blood bags never thrilled him with this level of elation and heat. Bertholdt lay on his bed drawing his tongue across his teeth in desperate search of any residual flavor. Reiner’s taste was richer than most other blood. Though perhaps it was due to Bertholdt’s taste for him in other ways. There was no denying it. He wanted to ravish him in a carnal manner. Sex with a human was something he had never done before, and it gave him great pause. Worried he would lose control and harm him, but Reiner was no delicate white lily. So he compromised with himself and decided to allow Reiner to make the first move if he made one at all. 

The following day Reiner set up a table in the library full of slides, a microscope, knives, and other tools. All harshly illuminated by a harsh white light table lamp. Bertholdt hated LED lights and preferred dim yellow lamps or candles, but for a science experiment in a dark house he knew it a must. 

Reiner stood at the table working, coat and gauntlets off revealing a simple black tee. His bare muscular arms looking perfect to sink his nails into. 

“I made crab crakes with a remoulade sauce,” Bertholdt announced, a white dish perched on his fingertips. Flakey seafood cakes circled a dish of sauce garnished with a sprig of tarragon. 

_A bite for a bite_, he thought.

Reiner turned, harsh light illustrating the damp sheen of sweat on his face from working. “You’re a vampire who eats.”

“I love cooking too much not to.” And Bertholdt seldom had the chance to cook for anyone. 

Reiner wiped his forehead on his arm—not doing much good—and plucked a crabcake from the plate and gave it a dip. “Oh my god…” He moaned after taking a bite. “These are incredible. And I don’t even like crab that much.”

Bertholdt’s mind reeled with other ways he could make Reiner verbalize pleasure. “Have as many as you want. I’m not hungry at the moment.” Reiner gave a knowing nod and had a few more cakes. “So, how’s it going here?”

“It’s going. Your blood is certainly more complex than the blood of normal vampires.” He plunged a crabcake and took a hefty serving of sauce. His lips were so _pouty_. “So, you ready to tell me about all of _that_ yet?” 

Bertholdt kept the secret of his powers to himself. All anyone knew is that he was turned by something unlike any other undead. So he told Reiner just that. 

“What force would that be?” Reiner pried. Bertholdt answered with silence. “If you tell me, you’ll have to kill me, right?”

“No, it’s not that serious. But I can’t risk letting it be known. There are people here who want to take my power.”

“Like me?”

“You’re not seeking vampirism.”

“I could be playing you.”

“If so your heart would be skipping right now. It’s steady. You’re not lying.”

_I hope_.

“So tell me then.”

“Tell me why you want to become immortal first.”

Reiner leaned against the table. “What’s to tell? Who doesn’t want to live forever?”

Humans were so naïve. 

Bertholdt hummed. “You may regret it one day.”

“At least I’ll have plenty of days to regret it then.”

“You lack foresight.”

He waved him off and turned back to his station. “I’ve heard it all before.”

Reiner was a ridiculous idealist. Bertholdt saw the world in linear terms. He wanted to talk him down, explain one could not just unlock the key to eternal life with no drawbacks. But he had a spark of innocence that was infectious. One he didn’t want to be the one to extinguish.

“You’ve been at that a while, might you want a break?”

Reiner placed a hand on his back as if to unknot it. “Eh, yeah. Wouldn't hurt.”

“Would you like to join me on the terrace? If you don’t mind that I smoke.”

“Sure, and I couldn’t care less. I can deal with second-hand smoke since I’m gonna be living forever.” 

Bertholdt smiled to himself then fetched a pack of clove cigarettes from a desk drawer. He led Reiner through the house and up the polished oak stairs. At the end of the second floor hall was the terrace, generously shaded with an awning that blocked direct sun. 

“Clever,” Reiner said, gesturing to the awning and sitting in one of two wicker chairs. 

“I had it installed shortly after I moved in here.” He took out his old faithful lighter from his pant pocket and lit up his cigarette. The sharp taste of cloves filled his pathways and he sighed. 

Reiner reclined back in his chair. “Miss the sun?”

Bertholdt exhaled a cloud of incensed smoke. “I used to sunbathe.”

“You must’ve gotten bronzed. You’re—on a full stomach at least—already so tan.”

_So you've been looking at me..._

“It was more about how it felt, not looked.” 

“Gotcha.”

Relaxing in the sun was a distant yet palpable memory. But now a few seconds in its rays made him tingle, then his flesh would redden, then after a minute it would begin to blister, then melt, then….

Reiner twiddled his fingers on his knee. “You know, if you let me take a skin sample, I could always experiment and try to see if I could lessen or even stop the burning.”

“People have already tried. Through means like those and magical.” He offered him a gracious smile. “Thank you for offering though. That’s very kind.”

“I love the beach, so I can imagine how much it’d suck to not get to do that anymore.”

Bertholdt licked the roof of his clove-numbed mouth. The cigarette crackled faintly between his fingers. “So you really think you can do it? Immortality with no downsides like those?”

“I do.” He lolled his head to look at him, eyebrow raised inquisitively. “You don’t, I take it.”

“I can’t say I’m confident. Not in you, just in the practice in general.”

“I get it. I wouldn’t be either if I were you.” 

“So that doesn’t discourage you?”

“Not at all. Like I said, I’ve heard it all before.”

“That’s really…”  
  
“Dumb? Insane? Naive?”

“Commendable.”

They shared a knowing gaze that had Bertholdt blushing. A look Bertholdt had not seen in years. Affection. Without a trace of fear. 

A pit formed in his stomach. A vampire falling for a human was always a bad idea. Especially a human who was adamant in not turning into an undead. Yet he couldn’t bear to invent an excuse to deny his company. Of which he enjoyed from the moment he saw him standing there petting his dogs. Not only had Reiner won the heart of his deadly hellhounds, but of himself as well. 

Bertholdt took a deep inhale of his cigarette in hopes of numbing the butterflies.

***

In the week that followed, Reiner looked forward to nothing more than working at Bertholdt’s home. Striding from his apartment down the busy Bourbon Street with a spring in his step. Eager to relive the historic events Bertholdt retold, indulge in his many kitchen creations, and give head pats to his rugged hellhounds. Bertholdt reluctantly admitted they were named Potsticker and Jambalaya. A sexy vampire king with a soft spot for cute dog names made Reiner’s heart flutter.

Once to Bertholdt’s home, he spotted a note taped to the door: 

_Reiner, meet me at the Salon de Luxe at eight. My treat._

_-Sincerely, Bertholdt_

For god’s sake. Reiner gave Bertholdt his apartment phone number. But the guy was too committed to being posh and old-fashioned to pick up a phone. Even sexy cute vampire kings had their annoying traits. Charming, but annoying.

Reiner huffed and glanced at his watch. Fifteen till eight. He turned back and headed to the lounge. He’d seen the place from the outside, and it was much ritzier than the bar where Floch met his end. Posh bastard, Bertholdt was.

Reiner arrived at the lounge that sat on a street corner. He felt out of place as soon as he stepped in. The booths were polished and the local music that came through the speakers was easy on the ears. The dozen or so patrons crowded away from the back corner booth where Bertholdt sat. Dressed the same as the night they met and with a drink and a smoke. 

Whispers and hushed gasps circled him as he made his way over. It irked him, having complete strangers know of their comradery that he preferred to keep to themselves. Wishing Bertholdt had not urged him out in public.

“You could’ve called me, you know,” Reiner said as he sat down on the leather seat across from the vampire. His hands folded on the table. “And told me why we were meeting here.”

His supple face twinged with regret. “My apologies. I come here on Friday every other week to gel with the locals. I decided it would be rude to leave you out.” 

Reiner’s annoyance melted in an instant at Bertholdt’s batting eyelashes, and he sat back in his seat. “They’re talking though. Don’t you like your privacy?”

“Yes, I do. But I’m tuning them out.” He picked up his glass and twirled its amber contents.

_Classy bastard_.

A delightful peppery scent wafted from the swung open kitchen door. “Can this place cook as good as you?” Reiner asked.

He rolled a shoulder and brought the cigarette to his lips. “I fronted them some of my recipes years ago.”

Reiner chuckled. “Well, I loved your crabcakes. And dirty rice.”

Bertholdt tapped his long nails on the skull cane to resting at his side. A young male server scurried over. “Yes, Bertholdt?” 

“My companion would like an order of crabcakes and dirty rice, and to drink…?” He raised an inquisitive brow at Reiner.

“Club soda with lime,” Reiner finished.

The waiter jotted down the order with frantic hands.

“I’d also like your lemon tart.”

The waiter nodded more times than necessary. “Yes, right away.” He scurried back to the kitchen like a mouse.

Reiner marveled at the effect Bertholdt had, then asked, “Don’t like being called 'Mister Hoover' or ‘sir’ or ‘sire’?” 

His face contorted with disgust. “No. Not at all.”

“That’s the unclassiest thing about you then.”

“It’s not so much about class as it is about image. I want to be seen as accessible, but not touchable.”

“I see.”

Reiner settled into place and they exchanged small talk over their delectable city cuisine. A few things about their alliance came up, but Reiner couldn’t shake the prying eyes of everyone around him. One particularly eager short girl with a head of dark hair in pigtails peered over her drink from the bar. Reiner was about to throw her a glare when another young man tiptoed to their table.

He had a shy smile and hands folded behind his back. Freckles smattered his cheeks. “Bertholdt,” he began, “I have to thank you. Floch had been terrorizing the community. He completely thwarted that last shipment of blood all for himself. And he’d have definitely have killed again if you hadn’t stopped him.”

Bertholdt gave him a polite smile and a raise of his glass. “You’re welcome, Marco.”

Marco offered a small bow out and went on his way back to the bar. 

“Hey, isn’t that nice,” Reiner said, giving a playful tap to his wrist. “Some appreciation.”

Bertholdt lowered the glass to his lips and took several rough gulps. “Give it a month and I’ll have to be painting the wall with his jugular too.”

“Hm?”

He sparked up his second cigarette. Odd to Reiner because he never chainsmoked in their time together. “Not like innocent people don’t get chomped on and thrown in a ditch. I just try to make sure it never gets out of hand.” He blew a cloud of smoke above him. “They don’t like me, they just fear me.” 

Reiner absorbed the scene before them; the gap between their booth and the rest of the bar patrons. The nervousness of those who spoke to him. The whispers. The side eyes....

Reiner had been thrust into foreign world. Of castes and fear and hierarchies. He’d always been one to go his own way. Search for a better tomorrow while Bertholdt had been stewing here for who knew how many years just keeping things from imploding. 

“Who says you have to…” Reiner began, but he was certain he knew the answer already. 

“If I didn’t, no one would.”

New Orleans was a city bustling with countless types of supernatural beings. Going unchecked would be a madhouse. 

Reiner was unsure what to say, a simple ‘I’m sorry’ felt too hollow. He wanted to give Bertholdt a hug. 

Bertholdt stood and began gathering his things. “I’m about ready to head home. Come or stay.” 

Reiner rose to his feet and and followed him through a crowd that parted around them. Instead of taking the sidewalk, Bertholdt ducked around the corner and through a back alley. The fragrant clove smoke filled the silence. 

Bertholdt halted by a dumpster and pinched the burning end of his cigarette before tossing it inside. His throat bobbed, and he answered a question Reiner had not yet asked, “No, I’ve never truly had a choice in anything. I was made like this by someone else without my consent. And now I have to do what I can to keep this city from turning inside out. It’s the least I can do after what I did at first.”

“Did at first?”

“I’m a vampire. You know the answer.”

“So that’s it, you just exist as a means to an end.”

He hung his head, shadows obscuring his eyes. “I’ll never truly have friends. They’d all rejoiced if I died. Then they could do what they please.”

As hollow he still felt it was, Reiner had to say it. His feet brought him forth enough to hear the sound of his breathing. “I’m sorry.”

Their eyes met in the dark and his heart skipped. This was it. His body was screaming at him to get closer. Press against him and be enveloped by this gentle giant. Their mouth erased inches between them. Reiner’s eyelids fluttered shut and Bertholdt’s warm breath brushed his lips.

“That includes you,” Bertholdt whispered, a painful edge cutting through his voice. Reiner opened his eyes to Bertholdt hiding his own. “I’m an idiot…” Reiner again tried closing the gap when Bertholdt winced. “Was this your plan? Cozy up to me, make me trust you by coming unarmed? Playing with my dogs and sitting on the terrace with me? So what, you could kiss me and humiliate my desperation with a stake in my heart? You have to have one on you. Someone this committed to immortality isn’t that stupid.”

Reiner’s heart dropped. “Bertholdt—”

“Shut up! Show me your stake, take it out, fight me for real and stop toying with me.”

He shook his head back and forth and held up his hands. “I’m not an assassin.”

“Please, I’ve been tricked before. Never as elaborate as you, but I’m no fool.”

“I’m not—” He gritted his teeth. “I’m _not_.” He shrugged off his coat and hurled it to the ground. Then kicked off his boots, then his belt. “I’m not hiding a stake. Search me if you want.” Bertholdt’s shoulders quivered as he scrutinized his body. Reiner pulled the sleeve of his shirt aside. “Or bite me.” Bertholdt’s lips parted over his teeth. “I know you want to.”

Reiner was a madman. His previous risk-taking paled in comparison to this. He had no real reason to be this bold just to prove a point. But Reiner was nothing if not daring. And Bertholdt, even if just for a fleeting moment, had shown himself to Reiner. Shown the sadness behind the mask. And Reiner didn’t want to see less, he wanted to see more.

Bertholdt transfixed on his exposed neck. Stuttering forth as his eyes flared crimson.

“It’s okay,” Reiner said. “Go on.” 

That telltale hiss came from his throat and he slammed Reiner against him by his waist. Fangs sank into his skin and Reiner fisted Bertholdt’s coat. His eyes screwed shut at the searing pain. But he endured, letting Bertholdt drink. Little suckling sounds piercing his ear that were equal parts alarming and arousing. 

Bertholdt’s other hand slid up Reiner’s back and sharp nails prodded his back, but didn’t puncture. Merely grazed. Reiner relaxed against him, imagining his veins dilating for an easier feast. 

Just as Reiner was starting to feel dizzy, Bertholdt pulled off with a pop. Reiner still held on for dear life as Bertholdt leaned back. A trickle of blood colored the corner of his mouth. Reiner chose that moment to kiss him. Tastebuds exploding with the warm copper of his own blood and the spic of cloves.

Bertholdt kissed back, eager and even hungrier than when he had fed. “Reiner… Reiner…”

***

Bertholdt caressed and trailed kisses across Reiner’s body. Mapping the stitches and the hard goosebumps that his fingertips elicited. Leaving bites on his chest, his thigh, and between his shoulders blades. Rolling around in Bertholdt’s grey and black silk sheets. Sweat, drops of blood, and the release of their passion stuck their skin together.

“Would you like to have a bath?” Bertholdt rasped, cupping Reiner’s flushed face. “We could both use a scrub down.”

Reiner nodded lazily and let Bertholdt draw a steamy bath in his clawfoot tub. One he had custom made extra large due to his own stature. It held both him and Reiner comfortably. The aroma of rose bath oils and earthy lavender bubble bath gave way to a daze. But the heat below his belly soon returned as Reiner curled forth and slid his fingers south.

Bertholdt lolled his head back. “Keep doing that…”

Reiner hummed and slid his hand lower. “Doing that?”

A tug was followed by a gasp. The water sloshed around them and dripped into the tile floor. Bertholdt lifted himself to a more convenient elevation.

He ran his fingers through Reiner’s wet hair below. “Do you... do you like how I taste too?”

Reiner's lush lips retreated long enough to release the words, “God, yes.”

After their bath, Bertholdt pulled on his plush robe and offered Reiner one of the larger pairs of dark green pajamas from his closet. 

Bertholdt took Reiner’s hand. “May I show you something?”

“I think you already showed it to me.”

His grinned. “Hush.”

He led him down the hall and to the library. Parting a row of tomes on the tallest bookshelf and fetching a dusty threaded sketchbook no bigger than his hand. 

“Sixty-one years ago—” The words died his tongue. Unsure how to tell a tale he had never uttered aloud since it happened. He thumbed through the pages until he found an illustration of a girl and a demon. Reiner studied the drawing. “The one who did this to me was a child. Her name was Ymir Fritz. She was very strong, stronger than I am now. She was turned as a result of a deal with the devil and had been a vampire for two thousand years.” He pursed his lips, waiting for Reiner to respond, but he only hung on his words. “She hated it, she never got to grow up. Until one day she noticed me.” His voice dropped to just above a whisper. “I was a martial arts student and proficient enough to also help teach younger kids. She was one of them. We even played paddy-cake together. Then one day she—this tiny little thing—overpowered me. Drank from me, made me drink her blood, then killed herself. She said she just wanted to be free.”

Reiner’s brow furrowed. “Why turn you instead of just killing herself?”

“She told me the power would have to go somewhere if she died, and she didn’t know where. She thought I wouldn’t misuse it too much.” His throat ached with decades-old pain. “I never wanted to be this way.”

“I’m sorry.”

It hit like a ton of bricks. The first person to understand him in ages. His eyes burned with tears and he ushered Reiner to sit with him on the sofa. Laying the book on the table. “And after I turned, you can guess what happened. I was famished. The closest person by was a woman named Carla. She was worried about me because I looked out-of-sorts.” His fists balled in his lap. “And after that, I raced to my father’s home. I turned him. He was terminally ill, and I’d already lost my mother when I was young. He didn’t want to be a vampire either, and I took that choice away from him. Just like Ymir had mine.”

“Is he…”

“He’s still alive. Somewhere in Colorado the last I heard, which was forty years ago. He wants nothing to do with me.”

Reiner brushed a strand of Bertholdt’s hair from his forehead. Then wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pulled to his chest. Lulling Bertholdt’s wounded heart with soft strokes to his hair. Bertholdt lay in his arms. Astonished at the compassion of a man he’d thought an assassin mere hours before.

“I admire you,” Bertholdt uttered against his chest. “You’re so enthusiastic. So focused. I miss that about being human.”

“I wish I could make a cure for you.”

“It's alright. I’ve learned to accept it.”

“No. I’m gonna try. Because I’m enthusiastic and focused.”

He lifted his head. “Reiner, no.”

“It’s _my_ time, and I plan to have a lot of it. Let me try. Would give me a reason to play house with you a little longer.”

Bertholdt snuggled firmer against him. Toes twiddling at the thought of Reiner staying in New Orleans. “I suppose I can’t stop you.”

“Not a chance.” 


End file.
